


The Secret Of Our Hearts

by corinnemaree



Category: Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Artists, Confess AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 18:10:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10576716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corinnemaree/pseuds/corinnemaree
Summary: Things aren’t so great in Claire Dearing’s life. So when she’s offered a job at Owen Grady’s art studio, who is she to deny it? Little did she know, it would change her life for the better.





	1. Landslide

**Author's Note:**

> Based off the novel ‘Confess’ by Colleen Hoover. I posted this like 2 years ago and then it sucked (in my mind) and i found it and fell in love again, so IT'S BACK! Hope you like it! xx

When Claire got pregnant with Charlie’s baby, she didn’t know what to do. How was she meant to do it alone? She couldn’t. Not at sixteen. She wasn’t ready. Especially after losing Charlie. Claire didn’t know what to do with herself, so she did the only thing she could think of; she moved to Dallas to be with Charlie’s family. They technically had legal custody of C.J. and all she wanted was to be closer to her son. But that didn’t mean she didn’t miss San Diego. This would be the most trying time of Claire’s life.

 

*~*~*

 

_Stupid Lawyer._

No, he wasn’t stupid. Claire was stupid. She was stupid to ever trust Charlie’s grieving mother. That might sound harsh, but at twenty-six years old, Claire was realising, Charlie’s mother was using C.J. to replace the son she lost.

Claire missed Charlie. God, she missed Charlie every day. She was beginning to miss C.J. just the same. She barely got to see her son. And now with this lawyer, she had to get another job to pay for him, which means less time with C.J.

Claire’s life was complicated. So damn complicated. It needs to be explained as to why she’s in Dallas again and not in San Diego. When she was first raising C.J., she lived in San Diego with Charlie’s mother Louise. Claire wasn’t given much time with C.J., Louise saying that Claire had no clue how to do anything. But Claire was still learning. Claire gave Louise custody over C.J. because Claire’s family couldn’t afford to have another mouth to feed. It was the only way Claire could keep her baby in her life.

Most of Charlie’s family lived in Dallas, so when he was dying, they moved him to Dallas to be closer to them all. Claire found out she was pregnant when she moved back to San Diego, and Louise came to help Claire out. It wasn’t until a year ago that Louise decided to move to Dallas again. Claire needed to be with her son, so she moved to Dallas to be closer to him, even though she barely got any time with him anyway.

So now, she was walking to her apartment, her feets hurting and her arms wrapped around herself in comfort. She didn’t want to cry again. It had been a frequent occurrence that Claire would cry on her way home. What was she going to do? She had to get another job, and just with the single thought, a sign screamed at her from the nearby shop window.

**_HELP WANTED_ **

**_KNOCK TO APPLY_ **

She stopped. She had never taken notice of the space before now. Mainly because she was probably crying too hard to notice. The windows were covering in notes, so it was next to impossible to see inside. Claire read the name of the shop, giving some indication as to what the nature of the store was.

**_SECRETS_ **

It was the only thing that the shop read, but with the windows filled in, Claire was starting to realise some things about the store. It had small confessions written on every piece of paper that covered the windows and Claire decided to read one.

_I’m glad my husband and his brother look alike. He’ll never question if his son is his or not._

Claire gasped before a small laugh escaped her lips in surprise. She had to read another one.

_I wonder if I’ll ever love my wife again._

 

_For days on end, my thoughts betray me and I want to fall into deep depression. My smile masks it every time._

 

They were sad and hilarious but never changing in terms of the truth. Claire kept reading them, laughing every so often as she made her way around every window and read as many confessions as she could read. That was, until the door came open, forcing her to back up into the window behind the door.

A hand reached out the door, taking the sign, scribbling on it quickly, and placed the sign back where it was.

 **_HELP_ ** ~~**_WANTED_ **~~

~~**_KNOCK TO APPLY_ ** ~~

**_DESPERATELY NEEDED_ **

**_BEAT ON THE DAMN DOOR_ **

Claire laughed, covering her mouth before the hand finally became a face. He had dusty brown hair with a strong jaw, a smile plastered on his lips. Claire’s breath got caught in her throat before he stepped out his door, a white shirt on with paint splattered onto it. He gave a bright smile when he took Claire all in.

“Are you here to save me?” he asked breathlessly.

“I’m not sure, what do you need help with?” Claire touched the edges of her skirt, waiting for some sort of response. The man chuckled before tugging on her arm and pulling her inside the place. She felt a little uncomfortable, but there was something about him that didn’t make her feel scared. Now, as she was inside, she knew what she was getting herself in for. It was an art studio, paintings on the walls with the same kind of style that managed to speak to Claire with a brief sight of it.

“I’m Owen Grady. I own this studio, my girlfriend broke up with me and now I have a showing in like an hour with no one to ring up purchases,” he introduced and suddenly Claire was left with an aching head. She didn’t realise how fast he could talk with that deep voice. What a voice, by the way. Just a deep rhythm that hung low and bound itself to Claire’s chest.

“Okay, just processing here,” Claire managed to say through her stunned mind. She scratched at the side of her head as she watched Owen walk to the desk to the side of the studio. He led Claire there and pointed at things one after the other. It was quite easy as Claire looked at it all, but she was still a little confused as to why he needed help so desperately.

“My girlfriend worked for me,” he nodded.

“Sorry to hear about that,” Claire cleared her throat.

“She broke up with me last week. I got over it,” he gave a soft shrug, tucking his hands in his pockets and a small smirk at the edge of his lips that made Claire go a little weak.

“So, no one really wants to work for you?” she gathered. If he had a week to find a replacement, why did he wait until the last minute? Owen sighed.

“She let me know today that she is also not working for me and I’m desperate,” he pressed his lips together, frustration that he had been building over the day.

“What’s the pay like?” Claire finally gave in. She had to help this desperate guy. She had to help. There was no avoiding it now.

“Four hundred for four hours,” he nodded and Claire’s brow narrowed, a laugh coming to her lips. He had to be joking.

“Okay, what’s the catch?” she asked, shaking her head.

“No catch. Just ring up purchases and the four hundred is yours,” he smiled, kind and warm. That’s what she read on him.

“What do I have to do?” Claire gave a wary smile before Owen extended his hand to her. She swallowed before taking it.

“Well, first, you have to change,” he smiled and Claire looked confused. He laughed before taking her the stairs hidden to the side of the studio. “Come with me,” They started up the stairs and Claire realised they were going into his apartment. He let her stand at the top of the stairs before he went into some drawers. “What’s your name, by the way. I just took you off the street there,” he said over his shoulder as he kept searching the drawers. Claire took a hard grip on her purse before her name tumbled out of her mouth.

“I’m Claire Dearing,” she smiled and he smiled back. He rose up, handing over a tight black skirt and a plain white off the shoulder shirt.

“These were my ex’s. They should fit you just fine,” he nodded, taking her arm and a small squeeze as he handed over the clothes. Claire had to bite her lip to keep herself from blushing.

“Bathroom?” she asked timidly. Owen gestured to the corner of the room and she nodded, heading towards the bathroom. She got changed quickly, the skirt and shirt fitting just right. Thank god Owen’s ex left her clothes. She had been to a few art studios before and knew that it was more professional from a black and white attire. When Claire came out, she adjusted the shirt a little, seeing her clothes back in the bathroom. She looked at Owen, who was looking at her up and down, taking her all in. He bit the edge of his lip before his eyes met hers.

“Looks better on you than my ex,” he cleared his throat and took her to the edge of the stairs again. “Okay, we have about an hour before we open. I’m going to take a shower, you can take a look around downstairs.” he smiled brightly and Claire nodded politely, watching Owen head into the bathroom.

Claire went downstairs and noticed one painting that caught her eye. Claire didn’t know why exactly. She walked up to it, not daring to touch it before she looked at it with intensity, trying to see how it fuelled something within Owen. 

 

The amount of time he took to fall in love with every edge of the painting, like he never wanted to forget the face in the painting. As Claire stared at it, she felt the same face looking at her as well. There was a row of them that didn’t differ. They were all the same face. So beautiful and made with longing, desire and love.


	2. That Green Light (I Want It)

Owen took a breath before finding Claire once more. He walked down the stairs, skipping steps just to get down faster. Eventually making it to the bottom, he found Claire staring at a painting, one that was probably going to be sold that night.

Hesitating, Owen held his fists firmly before their sudden release. He walked to her side, tucking his hands in his pockets. The painting was only a week old, but it still held a special place in his heart. Maybe it was the way the figure stood out in the painting, or the colours that had him completely enveloped in everything that stood on the canvas. It took him a combination of days, but only a few hours to complete. She always had this way of making art easy. 

Owen glanced over to Claire, and she smiled to him, gesturing to the work in front of them. “You’re really inspired by this red-head,” she said and suddenly pointed to another picture further down. They both walked to it slowly, admiring the new piece. The girl sat behind flickers of colour, splatters covering most details about her. It had always been that way. The mix of colours made it easy to find a balance between longing and missing. “They must have meant a lot to you,” she sighed.

“I had never met her,” Owen confessed and Claire seemed to be shocked by that. Claire scanned the room, seeing the countless number paintings of the same woman but she didn’t seem to get it. “She just brought something out in me,” he sighed, turning to her before taking her to another of the countless collection of her. “Most of the confessions I get, I paint what I feel when I read it. Sometimes it’s other things, other times it’s her,” he explained. 

“Why do you never paint her face?” she asked.

“Like I said, I never met her. I don’t really know what she looks like,” he shrugged, hiding the fact that there was a lie going through his teeth. 

“But the way you paint her,” Claire muttered, approaching ‘Sometimes I wish I wasn’t alone’, the red and green splatters of paint covering the figure. She tilted her head before sighing and looking back at Owen, eyes filled with wonder and surprise. “You’re so in love with everything about her.” The smile that he saw was something like magic - brilliant and bright, like a gift that only he could ever receive. 

“She was special. I knew it the moment I saw her,” he sighed, and Claire gave back a timid smile before walking around the room again. 

Before they got things in order, Owen and Claire exchanged numbers, in case he had more work for her in the future or if she ran off without her pay, as she had warned Owen about the moment they discussed the end of the night. Owen helped setting up, getting out the plastic cups and making sure that they had enough alcohol to work a good crowd. Claire had the tablet to work with, noting all the pieces and walking around the room, and admiring different works. Owen tried not to watch her, knowing how creepy it must have been. Yet, the way she seemed to glide across the room was effortless, and she could reflect light when there was none. 

“How often are you open?” she asked idly and Owen watched her. She tapped on the tablet, not particularly interested in looking to Owen, but rather more interested in the work he had made. She was looking at ‘I have never wanted you more, even though you’re with someone else’, watching it with intrigue.

Owen cleared his throat, tucking his hands into his pockets. “First Thursday of every month.” 

“You must do really well,” Claire glanced over her shoulder, a brow crooked, an impressed look upon her face. 

“I only ever show my own works and it takes me a while to finish my paintings,” he told her and she nodded, looking at the countless works and nodding. The amount of works he can do within a month quite a feet and he could do it almost every month with at least ten works on display. Claire nodded again, going back to the works and counting the art that laced the walls of his studio. 

 

*****

 

“Do you have a favourite?” Owen asked as Claire had sat behind the counter with the register. She was startled by the question and had to think of an answer. She got to her feet, walking alongside Owen. Eventually making their way to a large painting just a few paintings behind the register. 

“This one,” she commented and Owen nodded. 

Claire looked through her tablet, she found the name of the piece and sighed at how everything came together to make it bittersweet and beautiful all in one. “When my eyes are closed, I imagine you and remember what you said when you left. I hate myself for letting you leave,” she spoke the long title and let her head tilt as she took in the painting another time.  “Powerful. And she’s here again,” Claire chuckled and Owen did as well. 

“Yeah,” he remarked. “This is my favourite too.” 

“Really?” Claire asked, a tad more excitement in her voice than she fully realised.

He gave back a vague shrug. “I poured my heart into it.” 

“Do you miss her?” Claire let the words slip. She knew he didn’t know her, she knew he hadn’t met her - and yet, the way he painted her, always out of reach, barely able to touch her, there was always something more there than what it may have appeared. 

“Some days more than others,” he said, staring back at the art that loomed large and powerfully over him. He was weak compared to the grace that was this woman. There was a long pause before a knock came to the door. Owen took in a deep breath and put on a fake smile, adjusting his suit. “Let’s do this.”

Welcoming in the bounds of people, the studio became full and excited. They played light hearted music, Owen enjoying some of the classic rock more than anything. Claire gave out glasses wine and champagne, selling paintings and talking with customers about the different works before they were eventually purchased. 

Even though Claire had seen all of the art works before, but even when she walked with the customers, she couldn’t help but notice that most of the art on display was seemingly inappropriate for any work environment. Claire and Owen met at one stage and she held his arm lightly. “You know, you don’t make much art on appropriate things,” she said, a joke echoing at the edge of her lips. Owen gave back a cocky smirk. 

“Depends on what your definition of appropriate is,” he said with a wink. His name was called and he adjusted his suit once more, walking off to meet with a journalist and a gathering crowd of people who wanted to hear him talk on what he had made. 

Midway through the exhibition, Owen was taken aside by an older man, the two seemingly arguing. Claire watched as the argument ranged from calm to physically clenched fists and then right back down. It got to a tipping point when Owen shoved the man’s chest and they both silently looked at each other in shock. For a moment, they didn’t move until the man took Owen by the shoulders, spoke lowly and moved out of the exhibition like he was never there. Owen seemed to remain in an upset mood for the rest of the night. 

Most of the night went by and there were staggering purchases made, some of the most amazing pieces being sold. Claire would always watch out of the corner of her eye to see if people would look at the piece that she had adored the most. It took everything in Claire not to lead people away from the piece that held a place in her heart. Sitting at the register, Claire was met with a very professional man, a suit that would never be tainted with dust or dirt, and an equally beautiful and clean cut woman by his side. 

“I’d like to buy number six please,” he asked. 

“And that would be?” Claire asked, skimming through the tablet. 

“The one behind you. It’d look great in my office,” he interrupted and Claire looked at the piece that would captivate her for a long time to come. Claire hesitated, glancing over to Owen. He looked over to her and smiled and her heart won over.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, that painting was just sold,” she shrugged, going over to the piece and placing a red dot on its namesake. 

“But,” The name tried to interrupt. 

“And the person who bought it just left, so sorry,” Claire said back quickly, walking down next to the couple and leading them around the room. “Are there any other piece you’d like, I’d be happy to ring them up for you,” she smiled to the pair. Glancing back up to the painting, Owen stood by, touching the red dot that now marked its fake purchase. Claire wondered if Owen was hurt seeing it or pleased. Either way, she felt some sort of guilt for not selling it. 

The night wound down, Owen letting the customers leave and saying his goodbyes to the people he knew. Owen shut the doors and leaned against the frame. He walked around the room, looking at all the paintings that had red dots on the names. Every painting was marked and it seemed to bring a firm smile to his face - a fantastic and beautiful smile that wrapped up everything from excitement to shock. 

“You sold every painting,” Claire confirmed as he made his way to the painting in the corner. The familiar redhead stood with the neutral browns and cremes splattered across her drawn skin. 

“Except for when my eyes are closed,” he said, removing the tag and tilting his head at Claire. “I saw what you did,” he said, and Claire held her breath. “Thank you,” he breathed out, taking a seat next to her on the long bench. 

“You’re welcome,” she sighed, biting at her lip. There was a shimmer in Owen’s eyes, the glow of intrigue and wonder as he looked at her. Claire was lost in that look for no more than a moment, but it still shone there taunting her, trying to entice her constantly. 

“So, did you want to get a drink? It’s nearly nine,” he told her and then panic set in. 

“Shit,” she remarked, leaving the tablet by Owen’s side and rushing for her purse. She looked at the time and swore silently to herself once more. Owen stood with her, watching in worrying as she rushed around the studio before hitching her purse up and breathing heavy. “I’ve gotta go, I’m so sorry.” 

“Wait -” he tried to stop her. “Your clothes and pay!” he yelled as she got to the door. 

“You have my number, call me,” she called out and rushing out of the studio, she grabbed her phone, dialling the number that always had her feeling numb and small. 

On the other end, Louise hounded her with disappointment and anger, the schedule that Louise had set up with Claire, ruined before of her forgetfulness. It took a while for Claire to even get a word in, even that was treated as an insult. Claire remained silent until the arguing became repetitive. 

“I know, Louise, I’m sorry. I just got held up at work,” Claire said over the phone, her hand on her forehead, and rubbing it in frustration. Claire heel snapped and she was thrown to the floor. Claire collapsed up against the closest wall, rubbing her ankle and finding the pieces of her shoe. “Yeah, okay. Goodnight.” Her words were unanswered as the line went dead. Claire held her head high, but there was still so much welling up in her chest, she wasn’t sure how she was going to make it home feeling great about all the good things that had happened.

Gathering herself up, she took off her heels and began walking to the apartment. Making it there, she found Zara putting their laundry up on the ceiling fan, obviously forgetting to do it earlier again. Their nursing uniforms would dry by morning, but this was a weekly issue when Claire had anything to do.

“You’re late,” Zara commented, her long shirt hanging just at the top of thighs as she reached up. Claire tossed her shoes on the couch and Zara hopped down, finding her trusty shoe glue underneath the couch where it always was. 

“And yet, I’m still home before you’ve done the laundry,” Claire commented, sitting beside her best friend. 

“Ouch,” Zara chuckled, putting her feet across Claire’s lap as she worked to repair the shoe. No matter how many shoes Claire could break, Zara was a wizard with putting them back together, never falling apart a second time. “Where were you? Getting any?” she said, shaking her shoulders and Claire rolled her eyes.

“Is that all you think about?” 

“Yes,” Zara replied with a large smile. “But, you’re never home this late. What’s going on?” she asked kindly, nudging her foot into Claire’s lap. Zara had a way of comforting Claire, a kind voice and fun way about her - she could joke and make fun of Claire without it being painful jabs. Claire could always rely on Zara in her worst moments.

“I had a job with an artist,” Claire said

“ _ Ohhh _ ,” Zara exaggerated. As Zara knew that Claire was struggling for cash, even with her job at the nursing home, it wasn’t exactly paying for the lawyer she had. 

“Don’t be like that,” Claire chuckled, hitting a pillow against Zara’s face. Zara laughed before she placed the ridge of her hand against the thick heel on the shoe and held it tightly there. 

“Who was it?” Zara asked. 

“Owen Grady. He has an art studio called ‘secrets’. He’s really good.” 

“Oh god, Owen Grady? He’s so hot,” Zara regarded and Claire rolled her eyes, laughing a little. She couldn’t disagree with Zara there, but she knew how Zara would react if she confessed to such a thing.

“Yeah, but his art is pretty fantastic,” Claire remarked, only eliciting of some suggestive eyebrow moves. 

“I’ve never had the time to go see it. Maybe we’ll go together next time,” she said, her eyebrows still moving up and down. Claire laughed harder. 

“Are you trying to suggest something here?” Claire said with a sarcastic voice. 

“Of course I am,” Zara commented, biting at her lip and giggling. 

“I don’t know. I mean, with everything going on with CJ, I don’t know if I have time to date,” Claire sighed, tucking her hair behind her ear. 

“No one said anything about dating,” Zara whispered. Claire scoffed and stood up. 

“You are the worst,” she reminded Zara. Zara stood, handing over the repaired heel and Claire smiled. 

“I’ll go get some ice cream and we can talk about it, okay?” she said and Claire nodded. 

“I’m gonna change,” Claire sighed, raking her hands through her hair and moving to her room. Removing the skirt and shirt combo, she was finally free of the clothes that didn’t belong to her and found the comfiest things she could amongst her mess of clothes. Claire found the small little sketch on the wall, the last remaining thing she had of him. Ten years. And yet, he still held the most precious spot in her heart. She’d made a promise, and it wasn’t going to break with time. 

“I miss you, Charlie,” Claire whispered, her fingers gracing over the frame of the art. 

Her phone buzzed with a new message. Claire pulled the oversized shirt over her head, her boxer briefs hugging at her curves and she moved herself onto her bed. Hearing Zara whistling away in the kitchen, Claire found the text from an unknown number - but she soon guessed it was Owen. 

_ [O]: _ So, how about that drink? I can give you your clothes and money?

**[C]:** You make it sound like you’re paying me for some devious act

_ [O]: _ You worked for me. Of course it was devious

_ [O]: _ So, drink tomorrow night?

**[C]:** Working. Drop off at the Wilfred Nursing Home. Thank you for the job, Grady

Claire knew she had to give him a chance, have a moment for just herself. Just not yet. And above everything, she knew that she was going to miss her opportunity with a man like him because of the mistakes she made in her past. 

 

*****

  
Owen sat in front of the canvas, the blank white taunting him. He got out the red spray paint and the red acrylic paints. She was right there in the corner of his mind, and every time he tried to think of something else to paint, he could only think of her. Claire Dearing. He wanted to see her again, to  _ know _ her. Why was a girl like that always out of reach. 


End file.
